


To Belong

by Thursday_Next



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Community: kinkme_merlin, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-02
Updated: 2011-10-02
Packaged: 2017-10-24 06:20:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/260086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thursday_Next/pseuds/Thursday_Next
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for <a href="http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/24606.html?thread=24992030#t24992030">this kmm prompt</a>: Post-S3, emo!Merlin hurt/comfort. Arthur is planning to marry Gwen, Merlin tries to be happy for them but can't help being a little heartbroken. Arthur is also spending more time with his new knights, Merlin has more duties than ever and has to watch everyone else take the credit and endure Arthur calling him useless while he is still unable to reveal how much he has helped with his magic. One day Arthur finds him crying somewhere in the castle and comforts him. Anon would like cuddling and kissing please.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Belong

The feast takes place just over a week after they regain Camelot. There's been a lot of work to do, rebuilding and so forth, and with Uther virtually incapacitated there's been a lot of duties for Arthur to take on. But Arthur's a good leader who knows that a celebration, a chance to let off some steam is just what his knights need. And not just the knights; this is a chance to show the general populace of Camelot that things are back to normal. To better than normal, even.

Camelot is thriving without Uther. Merlin can't even pretend to be sad about the king being incapacitated. It's what he's always wanted, Arthur in charge of the kingdom. Well, a step on the way towards what he'd always wanted, at any rate. A fairly big step.

There's mead and meat for the servants as well as the nobles. Arthur decrees anyone who helped to liberate Camelot to be worth his salt, and the upper hall is overflowing with wine and merriment. Much of the laughter ringing out across the hall is directed at Sir Leon and his supposed liking for for women's dresses. Leon blushes under his beard as Gwaine continues to tease him over whether lavender is really his colour.

Gwen sits at Arthur's left, dress finer than her usual servant's garb. The looks between them are shy but proud and happy.

Merlin stands, taking in this joyful scene and feels a lump rising in his throat.

Because there's no place for him here. He's still just the awkward servant who occasionally helps out but never gets thanks for it. The idiot who can't even find the warning bell. There to fill Arthur's cup and have Arthur's boots thrown at him. And it's not that he minds being Arthur's servant, it's not, but to look at all this cheer, this acceptance, this love in the room before him and know that none of it can ever be for him, well, it's almost more than he can bear.

He turns on his heel and flees the hall, seeking out a sheltered part of the castle. Out on the ramparts, near Morgana's old room, nobody comes here now. Satisfied that he is alone, Merlin sinks down the tower wall, his head falling into his hand, not bothering anymore to check the tears that won't stop falling, his chest heaving with sobs, hurting with everything he has held back for so long.

And he has held back. Arthur would say he does this all the time, but he doesn't. Oh he's cried, for Freya, for his father, for _Arthur_. But not for himself, although he has had more than enough reason, by any reckoning.

It's not that he wants a knighthood, a title, a public declaration thanking him for his service. It would be enough just for Arthur to know, to look at him with recognition in his eyes. Well, almost enough. He sniffs as he recalls that Arthur has a tendency to forget the respect and affection he has on occasion bestowed on his hapless servant, to return to his old, boot-throwing ways every time.

It's not that he has any hope of anything more between him and Arthur. He's seen Arthur and Gwen together. Merlin wants to be happy for them – two of his best friends – but the ache in his heart only grows the wider he stretches his smile. There's no chance that Arthur can ever return his misplaced affection, and that's all as it should be, but knowing that doesn't help how much it _hurts_. Because he'll always be alone. Freya's dead and his life is dedicated to Arthur, there will never be anyone else for him. And for all the friends he has here, there's no-one who can understand, can share in the weight of this grave destiny.

 

He has to gulp for air, the hot tears streaming down his face cooling in the night air, a release of a kind.

 

Merlin doesn't even hear the footsteps until they come to a stop right in front of him. He wipes his eyes hastily, although he cannot disguise the misery on his face with his usual cheery blank smile in time, only hoping it's a friendly maid who won't tell, or mock.

It's Arthur. Of course it's Arthur, because fate hates him.

"Merlin, what on earth's the matter?" Merlin tries to scramble to his feet, but Arthur crouches down beside him, stilling him with a hand to his shoulder. He's serious, concerned, and that alone shows how awful he must look, that Arthur doesn't even attempt his usual 'useless manservant' routine. Merlin takes breath enough to respond, throat raw, and shakes the hand off.

"It's nothing, sire, I..."

"Is it your mother? Is she ill? I can send more guards to Ealdor if there's anything..."

"It's not my mother." Merlin sniffs, trying to compose himself, "She's quite well. Thank you." He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes to prevent more tears from escaping, willing away the sting of embarrassment at being caught crying like this. "Nobody's ill, or died, or anything like that. I'm just... It's nothing, truly." He looks up at Arthur, then, and manages to fake a smile. Arthur doesn't look convinced. He moves his hand back towards Merlin once more, and Merlin draws back. "Don't punch me in the arm again." The joke falls flat as Arthur's face furrows into a scowl.

"Has somebody hurt you, Merlin? Because you know if they have, you need only tell me and they'll be dealt with swiftly, I swear it."

He sounds so sincere, so righteous, Merlin's almost ashamed of the real reasons for his sudden crying fit. He's half revelling in Arthur's goodness, Arthur's desire to protect, half despairing.

"Nobody's hurt me," he assures Arthur, gaining control over his voice. "Except you, with that boot you threw this morning." This fresh attempt to lighten the mood fares no better. Arthur grows pensive.

"Merlin. Is it, were you... is it because of me? Is that why...?"

"No," Merlin says, but not quick enough, evidently. Because it is because of Arthur, although not in the way that he thinks. _Everything_ is because of Arthur, and he can't think how he can possibly explain that without referencing the dragon, destiny, Albion, and his own hopeless infatuation, none of which Arthur can know about, not yet.

Arthur slides down the wall next to him, not touching, but close enough that Merlin thinks he can feel the heat from him. Arthur's breath mists the air between them.

"You know, I think you've got the right idea here, Merlin," he says, "A bit of peace and quiet. It's been a bit relentless, hasn't it?"

"I thought you would have enjoyed it. I don't mean your father being ill, obviously, but you know, hanging out with your knights, bossing people about, throwing things..."

"You're not going to let that go, are you, Merlin?"

"I don't know, I've let it go all the other times."

"Fine. I give you my oath, as Prince Regent of Camelot, that I, Arthur, will not throw any more boots at you, Merlin, manservant of the prince. Happy now?"

"Or cups," Merlin says, because for all the lies he's told so far he doesn't think he can manage to agree to being happy right now, even in jest.

"Or cups. Honestly, Merlin."

 

This is the part where Arthur usually shoves Merlin's shoulder or grabs him by the neck and adminsters some kind of matey, blokeish version of affection, and they all carry on as usual. But something's changed, whether it's because Arthur is king now, in all but name, or because Merlin has been caught crying like a newly-made squire away from home for the first time, or whether it's because this has all just gone on long enough, but that doesn't happen.

Merlin can't keep up this pretence of normality. There's too much pretence in his life already and he just _can't_ , not anymore, not tonight at least. He doesn't even realise that more tears are falling until he feels the soft swipe of Arthur's thumb brushing them away.

"Don't, Merlin. Please don't." And there's that sincere, vulnerable note to his voice that Merlin doesn't hear often enough. He wants to curl up and bury his head against Arthur's chest and cry it out but he won't, _will not_ humiliate himself further.

"I'm sorry," he manages to say, "I know you think it a weakness."

There's a heavy pause, and Merlin can hear himself swallow in the silence.

"I don't think you weak, Merlin," Arthur says at last. "Sometimes I think you're the bravest of us all."

Merlin's heart skitters then because all he can think is _Arthur knows._

"Arthur," he croaks.

"You're just a servant," Arthur continues, "And you're scrawny and clumsy but... you've faced down a dragon, you've stuck by me when I thought everything lost. Merlin," he says in a rushed, hushed voice, such a weight of emotion in that one word that Merlin has to catch his breath. Arthur gropes for his hand and squeezes it. "You know I – you know you're important to me, don't you?"

"I..."

"Don't make me say it again."

Merlin laughs, a reflex, looking up at him wet-eyed and ridiculous. But Arthur's eyes aren't as dry as they should be, by rights, and his jaw clenches in that way he has when he's trying to contain his emotions. He slings one arm around Merlin's shoulders and gathers him into an unexpected hug. It's a little awkward at first, crouched as they are on the cold stone floor, but much needed.

Merlin sighs and shifts until his head is tucked against Arthur's shoulder, the tip of his nose brushing against the pulse point in his neck and lets Arthur hold him. He'll allow himself this much. He thinks he's owed a moment of weakness, at least. Just a moment to take comfort in someone's arms, to not have to be the one who always has to solve everything, to always have to be brave, to be strong and yet appear to be neither.

 

He feels Arthur's lips press against his hair, once, twice. His head jerks up in confusion, eyes meeting Arthur's, wide and startled. Arthur inhales sharply and for a breath or two the struggle is written across his face, but then he curses softly and fits his lips clumsily to Merlin's.

Merlin hasn't imagined Arthur kissing him. Hasn't permitted himself that liberty. These feelings he even now can barely acknowledge to himself have crept up slowly and stealthily, with no time for idle fantasies of what can never be. Except that now it _is_ , a shock of heat against his mouth, chapped lips, rough and shaky. Arthur's hands cup his face as his tongue slides into Merlin's mouth. Merlin can't help the small moan that escapes him as the last of his walls crumble and he kisses back with a flush of fierce longing.

"Merlin, Merlin you know we..." Arthur mumbles against his lips.

"I know, I know."

But he needs this, thinks they both do, the heat and comfort they can draw from each other's touch. Merlin knows if he lets himself think about what they're doing, what will happen next, it will only open up a whole new slew of problems and lies and heartache. But right now, right now all that matters is Arthur's mouth on his, the way the ache in his heart seems to ease and intensify all at once, like sparks from a campfire, lighting up his whole being as they kiss.

Eventually they ease off, Arthur dropping light kisses to his still-damp cheeks.

"No more tears," he says and Merlin shivers.

"Ok," he nods, voice deep and rough, "Ok."

Arthur scrambles to his feet and holds out a hand to Merlin to pull him up. For a while they stand facing each other, hands clasped and unwilling to let go. Arthur opens his mouth to speak, but Merlin shakes his head.

"Not now, alright," he says. "There's too much... We'll talk later. Not now." Arthur nods his understanding. Merlin pulls his hand away. "The feast, you should..."

"Yes." He holds Merlin's gaze. "There's a place for you there, too, Merlin. There will always be a place for you in Camelot."

"I know," he says, and finds it's true, at last.


End file.
